Shiver
by jennamdurso
Summary: POV of a woman who had a serious relationship with Sam years ago and is reflecting on how they couldn't make it work. A certain event brings up old feelings and she finds herself calling Sam on a cold night to see if he's been thinking about her, too. Some angst and some fluff. Lots of Sam Winchester being perfectly imperfect. Imagine main female character to be anyone you'd like.
1. Part I

Disclaimer: Supernatural characters do not belong to me.

A/N: This story was inspired by a song called Shiver by Lucy Rose. Listen while reading for an enhanced experience. Flashbacks and memories are in _italics._

Part I

I always wished that we could make it work. I still do.

Time has passed and I have moved forward, found a man, let him kiss me, let myself love him.

But all of the distraction and the denial in the world could not erase that empty pit in my stomach that I felt when I found the engagement ring. At the sight of the little black box, my breath hitched in my throat. Hesitantly, I opened it to find a ring, beautiful and sparkling, everything I had ever hoped for. I should have been thrilled. I thought I would have been. But the sparkle did not reflect in my eyes as they welled up with tears of uncertainty and fear.

And so, I quickly put the ring box back where I had accidentally found it and willed myself to forget.

Last week I moved in slow motion through a sea of people donned in scarves and gloves. The Christmas sales were endless and I figured that being productive would help to ease my mind a bit. I watched as children ran along with their jolly grins and their red noses. I marveled at the little twinkly lights that adorned every window frame and light post, taking in the magic of the season. I inhaled the crisp winter air deeply in hopes that it would cleanse me somehow. And as I passed one of the shops, I stopped in my tracks at a sight through the window. It was a tall man in a black coat with shaggy brown hair. My heart skipped a beat as I waited for him to turn around and inevitably see that he wasn't you. He noticed my gaze in his direction and he smiled politely just before a small girl, who I presumed to be his daughter, ran up to him with something in her hand. He placed a gentle hand on her back and took one last glance at me before walking out of sight. Completely embarrassed, I shook the image out of my head, fixed my eyes on the sidewalk beneath me, and walked.

I saw you at least three times more since then: driving behind me through the rearview; on line to get coffee; turning a corner across the way. I see you everywhere I go, and then your face disappears and suddenly you're somebody else. My imagination can be a real bitch sometimes. And each time it happens I feel like the universe is alerting me to how much of a shitty person I am.

 _My eyelids are blocking out the soft rays of moonlight that shine through the window. I can feel the coolness of the pillow against my cheek and the back of my hand as I try to imagine myself sinking into the mattress. I am in and out of sleep, never letting my brain shut down completely,_

 _until my gentle slumber is broken by the sensation of a hand slipping tenderly into mine._

 _It is large and a bit coarse against my untouched skin, but it sends a tingle down my spine that I would recognize anywhere, awake or asleep. In one fell swoop, my eyes flutter open and a smile wipes the weariness from my face._

" _Sam", I whisper, gripping his hand tightly now. I can barely see his eyes as we are nose to nose, but I can feel the contentment in his breath, in his presence._

" _I'm here", he says warmly, and in minutes, I am drifting to sleep peacefully in the nook of his chest, breathing in tune with his heartbeat._

I awaken in the morning with a stretch just as my boyfriend is shutting the door softly behind him and heading to work. After washing my face and making a cup of tea, I amble back into the bedroom and toward my closet, whose doors I then open and contents I stare at blankly. As I run my fingers slowly over each article of clothing from left to right, my hand stops on the soft and worn material of an old flannel shirt. I extend one sleeve toward me and feel the soft flannel with both thumbs. This shirt had only left its hanger once in the past two years or so, and when I wore it, it was when I was alone on a cold night. It brought me comfort. I bring the material to my nose and can still detect a whiff of your scent. It brings me back in time immediately.

 _Sam lifts his head to look at me when he hears me pad into the room on bare feet. He smirks._

" _Well?" I ask, looking down at my body, tugging slightly at the hem of the shirt. The flannel is oversized on my frame, hem sitting mid-thigh and collar loose enough to expose my clavicle on one side. I look up and smile back at him playfully._

" _I don't know, I think I need a closer look", he teases, motioning for me to come toward him. He sits back against the couch, folds his arms and spreads his knees wider, ready to examine me._

 _I make my best sexy pose and saunter slowly across the wooden floor, stopping at his feet where I lift my naked leg to straddle him._

" _You know, I've got to say," he starts while I wrap my arms around his neck, "you look better in that flannel than I do"._

 _I look pleased with myself as I reach over to get my glass of wine. "Well, I'm glad you feel that way because you're not getting it back". I make eye contact with Sam as I lift the wine glass to my lips and drink seductively. I can practically see the fire burning behind his eyes when he flares his nostrils and says gruffly into my ear,_

" _The only place that shirt will be tonight is in a pile on the floor". And with that, wine is spilling while he's lifting me off of the couch in a giggling mess._

That was the first night I had seen your anti-possession tattoo. We had laid in bed together under the soft glow of your bedside lamp and you explained its significance to me. After that you told me the story behind each of your bruises and scars while I traced them lightly with my finger. It was then that I learned about the life of a hunter. It was then that I began to truly feel close to you. I should have known that it was the beginning of an end.

'This shirt needs to go', I say to myself, ripping it off of the hanger and tossing it into the trash. I take a deep breath and begin to get dressed for the workday. I make a promise to myself that the pining ends here.

'This is just silly', I think, 'I am happy with my life'.

As I shut the door and turn my key in the lock, I look down at my trembling hand.

'I am'.

 _Sam's hands hover over my back, fingertips barely grazing my skin. As they travel downward toward my waist, his touch is painfully pleasurable. A shiver envelops my whole body, a sensation I am familiar with. I feel it when his green eyes search me for answers. I feel it when his lips crash into mine. Letting time cease around us, I press my hands to his chest and I look at him carefully. I almost don't hear him when he says it, but the next words he speaks will echo in my head relentlessly,_

" _I love you"._

Saturday night has arrived and I have plans with the girls. I feel good about myself when I see my reflection, eyes bright and hair shining. I finish my primping and slide into my black pumps, grabbing my purse and heading out the door.

Something about that reflection changes as the evening unfolds, though, whether it be the lighting in the restaurant bathroom or the effects of red wine.

This time it's me searching for answers but, the longer I peer, the more it appears that my reflection is just as clueless as I.

My friends and I exchange our Secret Santa gifts and I plaster on a tipsy grin, pretending I have nothing to tell. We talk and we laugh, as always, and when they ask about me, I say nothing of the engagement ring, or of the string of old emotions it has stirred up within me.

I just can't bear to face it.

I get home and decide that the night is still young, so I uncork a fresh bottle of wine and pour myself a glass, leaning an arm on the kitchen counter. I pick up my phone and open the last text that was exchanged between my boyfriend and I.

It reads: 'Be home late. Hope you're having a great time'.

I look at the little text bubbles and consider calling him to see how his night is going with the guys. I ultimately decide against it and toss the phone to the side, hearing it bounce off the couch cushions. Sitting in my dress and crossing my legs, I flip on the television and take a gulp of my wine, eyes rolling back in my head at the smoothness of it sliding down my throat.

Two romantic comedies and one mind-numbing reality show later, I pour the remainder of the wine in my glass down to the very last drop, shaking the bottle with disappointment. I turn my head to look out the living room window. Windows? Since when are there two windows there? I shake my head and blink to steady myself, as I had been seeing double. When I look closer I see that there are snowflakes falling peacefully outside. I stumble toward the window and plop myself in the chair that normally serves as my reading nook, sitting sideways and propping both feet up on the opposite arm of the chair.

Watching the snow fall, I suddenly begin to feel everything inside me settle. My heartbeat slows, my breathing is even, and my mind is quiet. I watch as the fresh, sparkling snow coats the ground gently and makes every rooftop and tree branch look enchanting.

For a few moments, it feels as though I have relinquished control of everything.

And then, I begin to cry.

A single tear, at first, rolling down my cheek.

Soon after, all of my suppressed emotions are exiting my body at once.

I suddenly become painfully aware of how alone I am.

I pick up my phone, which is still open to my text conversation with my boyfriend. I play around with a few options of things to say; messages to send; feelings to share.

And then, like the easiest decision I've ever made, I scroll to your name in my contacts.

I stare meaningfully at those three small letters that, when put together, mean so much to me:

'Sam'.

And before I know what I am even doing, I hear ringing on the other end of the line.

And,

like you've always done before,

you answer.

"Hey", you say simply, sounding surprised.

"Hey," I say back, feeling breathless.

A few brief moments go by with nothing said between the two of us.

"It's snowing," I blurt matter-of-factly, quickly wondering why these are the first words to come out of my mouth.

I hear a small chuckle on the other end. "Yeah?" you ask, clearly not sure what else to say.

I can feel my face twisting up in emotion again, eyes welling up with tears. I try to fight it with a fake laugh.

"Yeah, um, is it snowing where you are?"

You take a second before you respond, and every second that's silent is one that I start to fill up with regret.

"Well, I'm actually not far from you, so yeah, it's snowing here a little, too".

Another ten seconds pass that feel like an eternity.

"Hey… is everything okay?" You ask me with genuine concern in your voice.

The tears flow down my face again at the sound of your voice. I didn't know how much I had missed it or how badly I had needed it.

"Sam…" I say, just to say, "…I don't know".

"Okay, talk to me", you say. I can imagine your eyebrows furrowing in the way they do when you get serious.

"You said that you're not far. Can we do it in person?" I ask.

"Yeah," you say softly, "of course. I can be there by tomorrow".

We make a plan to meet the following day and get coffee. Before we hang up, I feel like I'm holding onto your voice for dear life. I listen as carefully as I can when you say, "Goodnight".


	2. Part II

Disclaimer: Supernatural characters do not belong to me.

A/N: Flashbacks and memories are in _italics_

Part II

 _Being with Sam is the first long-distance relationship I have ever attempted. On the nights when we're able to be together, cloud nine is miles and miles below us. We could lie together in bed, or drink on the couch, or read books together forever. We even have the occasional opportunity to go out on a real date. Dinner, movie, you name it. The works._

 _But then there are the sleepless nights, worrying that he's in danger. There are the weeks that turn into months without him. There are the phone calls cut short. There is the uncertain future that lies ahead of us._

 _We have been trying to put all of this aside for the sake of the love that we have unendingly for each other._

 _But it's bringing us to our breaking point._

I am sitting in my car, Sunday evening, staring at the dark nail polish on my fingernails. The engine isn't running but the key still remains in the ignition, sitting, taunting me.

I could change my mind and pull out of here right now.

But one look at my own reflection in the mirror tells me that that's not going to happen.

A text message from you reads: 'I'm here'.

It's all so surreal, until I step out of the car.

Seeing you sitting at that table just about breaks me.

You're tall, regardless of whether you are standing up or sitting down. You are the perfect compromise between rugged and soft. I see a tiny twinkle in your green, hazel eyes

and I want to unravel.

I take a deep breath and smile the smile that most convincingly says, 'I-am-gorgeously-put-together-even-without-you-in-my-life'.

Let's hope to Whoever that this works.

Your lip curls up on the left side in a smile. "You look great", you say, crushing every dream I have ever had.

All I can manage to do is breathe and respond, "Thank you, Sam. You look well, too".

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered for you. Got your favorite. Unless it's changed?" You trail off.

I trace the outline of the cup with my fingers, smiling softly. "No, it hasn't".

I realize I can't avoid this much longer when I feel the gentle touch of your finger under my chin. You tilt my face up to meet your gaze. No 'How are you?'. No 'What have you been up to?'

Just, "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

I look you in the eyes and muster up the courage to say what's on my mind, "My…my boyfriend is planning to propose to me".

Your eyebrows raise in some form of surprise. You run a hand casually through your hair and say, "Wow, um… congratulations. That's good, right?" A smile creeps onto your face somewhat unconvincingly.

I sigh, seeming to be in thought, "…Yeah", and then take a very long sip of my beverage. Afterwards, I try to search your eyes to find a glimpse of indication. Indication that you are truly happy for me, or indication that you are feeling regretful.

Unfortunately, it's too hard for me to tell.

"So, did you meet me here to celebrate?" You ask, "You sounded a little off last night".

"Yeah, well," I start, looking down again, "I might have had–uh–".

I begin to realize how pathetic I sound and I try to turn all of this around in a way that leaves me with a bit of dignity.

"Sam, what do you really think about all of this?"

It appears that I take you by surprise in asking you such a question. This is the first time that you look away from me and down at your own coffee cup in thought. You open your mouth as if you're about to respond and then close it again.

"I think that you and I have led separate lives for a pretty long time now, and that, if you're truly happy, there's no reason why you shouldn't marry this guy." You pause and tap your thumbs nervously on the table,

"So… are you happy?"

My eyelids feel heavy as I lift my gaze to your face, eyes glossy with tears. Wordlessly, you take my hands in yours.

"I thought I was." I ponder, shaking my head slightly. You look at me with sadness in your eyes and it takes everything I've got not to outwardly shiver under your touch.

"What happened to us, Sam?"

 _Christmas Eve has always brought happy memories for me. For many, December 25th is the heart and soul of Christmas, the day they count down to. But me, when I think of the magic of Christmas, it's the night before that comes to mind. That's why this year is going to be special. This year, I show the Winchesters how it's done._

 _I can't wait a minute longer as I pack cardboard boxes filled with garland, tinsel, ornaments and lights. I've already done the grocery shopping and stacked up their refrigerator until it almost wouldn't close. All that's left to do is drive over there, force the boys into big woolen sweaters and feed their cheeky faces 'til they pop._

 _I see Sam waiting outside as I pull up in front of the bunker, door shutting behind him._

" _Oh, good!" I exclaim, talking to him with my top half in the back seat, "Here, I brought four boxes. I know you told me not to go crazy but, well, you know me better than that"._

 _He gives me a lazy smile as he helps me take the boxes inside. I greet Dean with a kiss on the cheek and a playful hair tousle._

" _I hope you boys are ready for the most glorious, mediocre meal you've–"_

 _I turn around from the kitchen counter to see Sam still standing by the door._

" _You going somewhere, babe?" I ask._

" _Yeah, uh, last minute gift exchange", he nods casually, zipping up his jacket._

" _Really?" I say, "Isn't that what the week after Christmas is for?"_

 _He smiles wide and shrugs his shoulders, "Won't be too long, promise". I stand on my tiptoes to receive a kiss on the forehead and then tilt up my chin for a peck on the lips._

" _We'll hold you to that," I reply sweetly. Dean yells some comment at Sam as he's halfway out the door about eating all the turkey or mashed potatoes if he doesn't hurry back._

 _I hardly hear it because I'm in hostess mode._

 _About an hour later, the turkey is in the oven, the holiday tunes are playing softly in the background (of Dean's belting), and the tree is almost lit._

" _Man, you're like a lean, mean Christmas machine," Dean chaffs, examining the tree, "Is there anything I can do?"_

 _I chuckle, "Yeah, you can have the most important job: Put the star on top". I hand the ornament to Dean carefully as he beams and 'ooh's like a child. It makes me feel warm inside to see him so joyful, and then a tinge of sadness reminds me that he has probably rarely, if ever, had the chance to celebrate this way before. We stand next to each other in front of the tall, glimmering tree and silently admire a job well done._

 _An hour after that, the clock reads 7:30 and I'm wiping flour off my face with the back of my hand._

" _Sam should be back soon, right?" Dean wonders from over on the couch, "What did he say he was doing, anyway?"_

 _I blow a strand of hair off of my nose. "Supposedly 'exchanging a gift he bought'._

 _But I suspect he's picking up my Christmas puppy", I say, flashing a dreamy smile._

 _Dean turns his head and guffaws, "Keep dreaming, sister"._

" _What?!", I argue, "I could keep it at my place"._

 _When the puppy talk subsides, I glance at the clock and get to thinking._

" _Maybe we should call him just to see where he's at"._

 _Sam doesn't answer his phone._

 _For me, or for Dean._

 _At first, it doesn't alarm either of us._

 _It is the last day for people to run out and buy gifts, after all. The stores and the roads are probably crazy out there._

 _But then, when another hour passes, my mind starts to race._

" _I can't believe he hasn't called", I sigh._

 _Dean sets out the plates and silverware. "I really might have to eat his portion of the food"._

 _I shoot him a no-nonsense look with my eyes and he walks over, "Look, I'm sure he's fine, alright? He wouldn't miss this"._

 _Dean looks at me genuinely with a hand gripping each of my arms._

 _But there is only so much either of us can say to convince the other when it is after 9 and Sam has not come home for dinner._

 _We sit at the table, all courses served, avoiding eye contact while Bing Crosby croons in the distance. I look up when I hear tapping on the table and see Dean nervously fiddling with his fork._

" _Alright, the food's getting cold," He says, rising swiftly from his chair, "That's it, I'm going to get him"._

" _Do you think he's–"_

 _Dean looks at me with stern eyes. "I can track his phone as long as it's still on"._

 _We avoid speaking on what both of us are thinking as he pulls his arms through his coat sleeves and leaves without another word._

 _I can do nothing over those next two hours besides play out every possible horrible scenario in my head over and over. I get scared, and then pissed, and then horrified again._

 _I begin to think about what Sam had shared with me of his history with Christmas–spending them in motel rooms with Dean while their father was out hunting; learning the truth about John and his life; stolen gifts wrapped in newspaper comics–and I wonder if I had done the right thing by pushing my traditions on him. All I wanted was to give him the Christmas he had never had and maybe reignite his flame of holiday spirit._

 _I wanted to take care of him and show him what our life together can be like._

 _And now he's out… God knows where… probably anywhere he can be far away from my 'stockings hung by the chimney with care' bullshit._

 _He could be hurt._

 _He could be…_

 _And at that, the sound of the bunker door creaking open and shutting closed breaks my train of thought._

 _Dean walks into the darkness of the open space with someone following close behind. He calls out to me, looking around._

 _It isn't long before the light flickers on and Dean stands in the doorway, scanning the room. He sees strings of lights pulled onto the floor. He sees a scattered mess of crumpled gift wrap and a few ornaments broken in pieces surrounding the tree._

 _He sees me, hugging my knees on the floor, in the dark._

 _I lift my head to reveal a distressed, tear-stained face, and I see him, standing slightly behind his older brother, bloodied and in shock._

 _I stand up immediately and run at Sam, crying and pounding my fists on his chest in anger._

 _He takes the beating silently until finally, I have collapsed into a puddle of tears in his arms. He holds me tightly and leans his chin on my head._

" _I'm so sorry," he whispers._

 _Dean quietly slips out of the room to give us our space as we sit amongst the ruins of what would have been our Christmas eve._

 _Sam explains to me that, when he had left earlier, he had really been helping a fellow hunter with a case, not running last minute holiday errands. He apologizes for having lied to me and to Dean alike, which, honestly, is the part that really takes me by surprise._

 _We talk at length about why he did it, how I feel, and what this means for our future together._

 _It's quite certainly the worst Christmas I've had,_

 _and we spend the rest of it eating cold dinner and falling asleep in silence,_

 _too afraid of where words will further take us._

You clench your jaw and look down at our hands stacked atop each other on the table.

"Please…" you say, voice just above a whisper, "don't be unfair".

"What's unfair is that we took something as right as it was and we broke it", I croak. A large lump forms in my throat that I can barely swallow. I look you straight in the face and see that you are beginning to look tearful.

"I…" You stutter, "you–"

"Oh, God," I sigh, sliding my hands out from underneath yours, "I feel so ridiculous. I shouldn't have called you". I pinch the bridge of my nose with two fingers and shut my eyes, trying to imagine that I hadn't embarrassed myself. My emotions are caught up in a haze of anger and mortification.

You take the last, large gulp of your coffee and set the cup down on the table. "Do you mind if we continue this outside?"

My eyes follow you as you stand up and a lock of hair falls into your face. I take a breath and follow you out the door. Without any discussion we walk together toward the Impala.

The snowfall has mostly subsided by now, but when you turn to me, I can see little wet flakes glistening in your hair and settling in your scarf.

I want to be angry with you

for saying nothing;

for crushing me with your hazel eyes;

for being everything that I remember, and more.

I want to be angry,

and roll my eyes

and walk away like it never mattered,

but instead I am frozen here,

watching the breath escape your lips into the cold December air.

"Listen," I start, "this was a mistake–"

"I think about you. I think about you, all the time".

I shut up and listen to the emphasis in your words, startled by them.

You continue carefully, "It still kills me every day that we're not together. And that, the way I felt…the way I feel about you is the most I will ever love anyone… ever again".

I feel as though all I can do is stand here and process, so I do.

And so you say some more,

"Until I met you, I never truly thought that being in love would be possible for me. Anything I felt for anyone before just doesn't compare,"

I take a small step forward.

You continue, "but I can't bear to know that I'm keeping you waiting for weeks on end, or that I'm dragging you into the mess of a life that I chose to lead!"

My fingers are shaking now, and I can't quite tell if it's the cold or the short distance between us that's doing it. You look down at me and, without hesitation, you wrap your coat around my shoulders loosely. Your scent envelops me like a blanket and I could just float away.

"You know," I say hesitantly, because I know how it's going to sound,

"you don't have to keep hunting for the rest of your life. You can make this decision for yourself. You can…" I take a deep, sighing breath,

"You can let me love you".

It's clear that each of us has been dreading this exact moment, exchanging these words. You look at me hopelessly and I lift my hand to cup your face.

When your hand covers mine, I can see new scars, on your wrist, and on your knuckles, formed over the previous year of hunting.

I wish that I were back in bed, listening to the stories of how you had gotten them.

I wish that the two of us were all that mattered.

You sigh, "You know that I can't offer you the kind of life that he can. Marriage. Kids".

Despite my prior knowledge of all this, it breaks my heart beyond words to hear you say it out loud. I look down in transparent disappointment and a tear streams down my face.

'Oh no, please don't do it,' I think, 'Don't'.

But you do.

Your thumb meets my cheek to wipe my hot tears away, and it just makes them harder to hold back.

Yesterday we were farther apart than I could handle.

And now,

Now we're too close;

Closer than my heart can manage.

I feel my back push firmly against the car and I hear your shaky, shallow breath

before you kiss me.

In the kiss I feel the world slow down.

I feel fire, and desperation.

I feel nostalgia, and regret.

It's all so agonizing,

And I don't want it to end.

I touch my fingers to my lips when you pull away.

For days, I will feel your presence linger there, soft and tingling.

For years, I will see you getting into the car and driving away,

glancing back at me through the window.

I will never forget the shiver that shook my soul when I saw your face

for the very last time.

It will come to mind on the day

that I leave the man who wants to marry me,

and likely every day after that.

You shook me like nobody ever had before.

I always wished that we could make it work. I still do.


End file.
